Over a decade in the making
At primary school I was bullied by a stuck-up little shit we shall call Eric. He was slightly bigger than the rest of us, which apparently gave him license to bullshit and push everyone else around. Point in case: at the age of 11 he claimed he had played for the England under 16's rugby team. A few years later I'd face him on the rugby pitch, as I played for my school. He was a linesman.

Over a few years of him pretending to be my friend in public and shoving me off my chair whenever nobody was looking, he managed to convince all my friends I was a weirdo because I was interested in girls, and I spent the last year of primary school, a time when I should have been cultivating confidence and personality before the reality-altering effects of puberty hit, completely alone and miserable.

Many years later, working in a club, my hugely attractive colleague Jane took a shine to me. Frankly, the flirting was embarrassing, and it only got worse when my girlfriend of the time was in for a drink. At our 2009 staff Christmas do, the flirting went over the top and into full-blown "you should probably shag me in the toilets" territory. As I looked on pleadingly at my friends, she tipsily sat on my lap, playing with my hair and shoving her breasts into my face while cooing... something. I don't remember the words, as there was no blood in my ears at the time. I'm not even sure I responded beyond grunting.

But I kept myself in check, right up until the moment her boyfriend arrived. Who should it be but Eric, all grown up to the lofty heights of 5'8" in a decent sized hat, who pulled her off me and sent her to the car. Having bumped into one another a few times during our school careers, he recognised me, and I recognised him.

"Stay away from her, Gun." he growled.
"Bit late for that..." I replied, silently stunned at the fact that I'd produced such a wonderfully enigmatic line under pressure.

He looked like he was about to straight-up ask if I'd shagged her, but didn't, which is good because to this day I can't decide if lying ("she said I was better than you") or slagging him off ("I wouldn't touch her after you've had your paws on her") would have been more fun. Instead he just scowled and stomped off.

Next month, I asked for all my shifts to overlap with Jane's.

They broke up 3 weeks later, when his paranoia sent him a bit (more) mental. Maximum result, no infidelity, total pwnership. Score.

Length? About 2 hours of stroking and buying me drinks.
(a gun that fires other, smaller guns full of jizz, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 14:46, 1 reply)

click from me

( lucosade is counting down the minutes until, Tue 8 Feb 2011, 16:46, closed)